


Lost Time

by Rubber_Radish



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Amnesia, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, House Being House, Major Character Injury, No Spoilers, Post-Season/Series 02, Unplanned Pregnancy, hospital shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-10-29 05:45:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17802128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubber_Radish/pseuds/Rubber_Radish
Summary: What would have been a normal day quickly goes wrong. When Cameron wakes up, everything seems normal enough. But when she finds out she's lost six months of her memory, she has to piece together everything she's lost, as well as a relationship she's completely forgotten. At the same time, House is struggling to solve the latest case when 2/3's of his team is out of commission.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Actually the first story I wrote for the fandom, but never bothered cross-posting from FFN. Will be updating weekly.

She watched him pick at his food, a small smile on his face. She had always loved this restaurant, and she loved that he knew to take her here. A flickering candle sat in the center of the small table, the orange light reflecting off their faces in the otherwise dimly lit venue. She studied his face, carefully constructed dirty blonde hair framing the blue eyes that were trained intently on his meal.

It was a miracle that they had actually managed to make the time to go out, let alone get a reservation. Being a doctor didn't make finding free time easy, and when you were on Gregory House's diagnostics team, constantly racing against the clock to solve a patient's life, it was even harder. At least they worked together, so whatever free time they had would be the same. She looked at his face again, the smirk still undeniably there.

"What's so funny?" she teased, leaning in.

"Nothing," he said, grin growing wider. "It's just... I love you." He looked at her, his blue eyes sparkling with joy.

"It's not even Tuesday," she said, smiling.

He raised an eyebrow. "Does it need to be?" he asked, in that stupidly endearing Australian accent of his.

She laughed, a twinkle in the light green of her eyes. "Eat your food, Chase."

"What," he said, twirling pasta around his fork, "you're not going to say it back?"

She smiled again. "Okay," she said, giving in. "I love you, Robert Chase."

Satisfied, he stuck the fork in his mouth, chewing in contentment before swallowing. "And I love you, Allison Cameron."

"You told me already," she said, laughing, spearing a piece of chicken off his plate.

"I know," he said defensively, raising his eyebrows. "I just wanted to say it again. Want to make sure you never forget." He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. "So, what are your thoughts on dessert?"

They walked, hand in hand, down the city streets. Hanging lights were strung between the street lamps, illuminating their faces in a warm yellow glow. The smell of food from the nearby restaurants wafted through the warm late spring air, and Cameron found herself sniffing the air eagerly, despite the fact they had just eaten.

"Four months," Chase said, looking up at the buildings as they passed by. "I honestly never thought you would say yes."

She leaned into him, smiling. "What, were you just planning on reminding me that you loved me for the rest of your life?"

He chuckled, the vibrations of his voice leaving a warmth in her chest. "Honestly? I probably would've given up. Lucky you stopped me in time."

"Hey."

He didn't recognize that voice. It was gruff, hostile. He turned quickly, her hand dropping out of his. A thug towered over them, face covered with a black ski mask. Well, this couldn't be good.

"Hand over your money, pretty boy."

He looked over at Cameron, briefly. Saw the fear shining in her eyes. He frowned, jaw hard-set in resolution. There was no way he was letting this guy take anything.

"No."

She tugged at his arm. "Chase, what are you-"

The man smirked. "Wrong choice, buddy."

A sharp, cold pain pierced his back. Chase gasped, staggering back, eyes opening wide. It was like his body shut down at once. His knees buckled under his now crushingly heavy weight. A choked cough into his hand. There was blood on it. He was going into shock, he realized, vision going dizzy. He'd been stabbed.

He could barely register being slammed into the ground, each breath becoming more difficult as his lungs filled with blood. There was someone on top of him. He could feel hands searching over his body, looking for valuables. Instinct kicked in, and he kicked the man as hard as he could.

His attacker staggered back, wheezing from having the air knocked out of him. The moment of pride didn't last long though, as his vision went dark as the other's fist slammed his face into the pavement.

"Get off him!" Cameron screamed. Through the bright spots that speckled his vision he could see her smaller figure rushing at the man, trying to claw him off. But the man he had hit was coming up behind her.

"No!" he cried out, twisting his body in a desperate attempt to move. He couldn't do anything, helpless as he saw the figure grab her, shove her hard to the side. He saw her lose her footing, saw the fall that felt like an eternity.

Saw her crack her head on the curb.

The thoughts flew through his head in a panic. No. No! It looked bad, but she had to be okay. She had to. She wasn't moving. Oh God, why wasn't she moving? The thugs were still there, taking whatever there was out of his pockets but he didn't care anymore, couldn't think straight.

"Cameron..." He dragged herself over to her body, using every ounce of his effort to not pass out beside her. The thugs were gone at this point. They had taken everything. He reached out two fingers, smearing traces of blood on her neck as he tried to feel for her pulse. Everything.


	2. Chapter 2

She opened her eyes and sat up blearily, listening to the repetitive beep of a heart monitor. Had she fallen asleep in a patient's room? She looked around, rubbing her eyes, wondering where the patient was, before realizing.

Her. She was the patient. As if on cue, blinding pain shot through her head, almost causing her to faint on the spot. She squeezed her eyes shut, reaching up to feel her head. Did her hair usually feel so... cloth-y?

Bandages, Allison. Bandages. A head injury.

What had even happened? Did she trip over something? Fall? Do something exceedingly stupid? She didn't know. She didn't know at all. It was common with head injuries to forget the incident when it happened. But that fact didn't stop her heart from beating faster, her breath catching in her throat.

"Oh. Hey. I guess you're awake."

Her head snapped up to see Dr. Foreman, walking in with a clipboard.

"I was just about to update your chart. How are you feeling?"

The throbbing pain in her head had not subsided in any measurable way. "Fine, I guess. My head's killing me."

Foreman nodded. "That would be the head trauma. You've been out two days." He wrote some notes down before continuing. "Do you know what your name is?"

She frowned. "Yeah." Two days? This was serious, then. How could she have gotten tangled up in something like this? "Do... you know what happened?"

"Gotta tell me your name," he repeated, a hint of concern bleeding through his stony facade.

"Allison Cameron," she muttered, blinking in the disorientingly bright lights. "What happened to me?"

"You were in an accident, that's all I know. You don't remember?"

She tried to think back, to recall a moment where she might've hit her head. It was if there was a blind spot in her memory, something she couldn't see, or had no feel for. "No."

He gave a curt nod, writing it down. "I'm not surprised. It was quite a nasty hit." He looked away in thought a moment, seeming bothered by something. "You know who I am?"

She nodded. "Foreman. We work together."

"In what?" he asked, rubbing his goatee.

"Diagnostics."

He nodded along, writing as she spoke. "And... how long?"

"A few years? I don't know, exactly." She winced, the questions making her head throb painfully. "Need anything else?"

The neurologist shook his head. "No, I think that's it for now. By the way, when you feel well enough to get up, Chase is in the next room." He got up to leave, tucking her chart under an arm.

Chase? He was hurt too, then. From what? The same thing? "Wait-"

Foreman stopped in his tracks. "Hm?"

"You said Chase was in the next room."

Foreman nodded. "You guys were out together when it happened."

She put a hand up to her head again. Out together... doing what? Pain shot through her head, making her wince. Okay. Too much thinking.

Foreman smirked. "Here. Catch."

A small pill bottle soared through the air, and she barely snagged it, the contents rattling inside. She read the label, squinting.

"...Vicodin?"

"Yeah," Foreman said, grinning. "Bet House will get a kick out of that."

House. Even thinking of the caustic man gave her a rush of adrenaline. It was stupid, she knew, but she couldn't help wondering. "Is he... around?"

He chuckled. "It's 8:30. You tell me."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. No. He wasn't around.

Foreman leaned over, moving his body slightly closer. "Two every four hours, by the way. Probably shouldn't be trying to read small print."

"Yeah... thanks." She popped two of the painkillers in her mouth and rinsed them down, then rolled back over in the bed. She'd sleep it off. It should help. She could figure everything out later. She sighed, waiting for the world to melt away.

Opening her eyes the second time was worse. It was like someone had been kicking her in the stomach. She was nauseous. Really, really nauseous. She ran out of her room and down the hallway, pushing into the bathroom as fast as she could.

It came out in a torrent, the remnants of a meal she couldn't recognize pouring out as she held on to the toilet seat for dear life. She sat, shaking, on the bathroom floor, emotions rushing in at once.

She's hurt, doesn't know how badly, doesn't know how it happened, doesn't know if anything is permanent, she can't think straight, everything hurts...

She didn't know how and when the tears started, but she sat, crying, back pressed up against the toilet, arms wrapped around her knees. It was utterly pathetic and she knew it, yet, she couldn't stop.

A knock at the door. She looked up, wiping tears away hastily.

"Are you alright, dearie?" An older woman, frosted blonde hair, thick Southern accent.

"Y-yeah, sorry." Cameron pulled herself up, letting the stall door swing open. "I've just been having kinda a trash day."

"Oh don't worry, honey, me too." The woman smiled at her fondly. "I'm here for my husband. They can't figure out what's wrong with him. He's under the care of a Doctor House."

House, huh? "Oh, I work with House."

"Oh?" The woman raised her eyebrows, giving her a disbelieving once-over.

"Yeah, I... I'm a doctor here." Cameron put a hand to her head, wincing as another jolt of pain shot through. "I should probably go. Nice meeting you though, Mrs..."

"Stevens. Amy Stevens."

She stuck out her hand, and Cameron took it. "Allison Cameron."

She walked down the hall, not really knowing where she was trying to go. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere where it wouldn't feel like her entire world had been turned on its head. She pushed open the door to the diagnostics room, basically falling into the nearest chair.

"The mummy walks," House remarked, tapping his cane on the ground. "Think you can help us with this case?"

"House, she has a concussion," Foreman retorted, arms crossed over his chest.

"Oh, right of course," he said, throwing up his hands in mock realization. "I couldn't tell since her head isn't wrapped up." He tapped a marker on the whiteboard. "Roger Stevens. Showed up with stomach pain, rash on the arms, and..." His voice faded off into the distance as Cameron found herself zoning out. The words didn't sound like words, the situation didn't feel... real. It was like living in an alternate reality, where everything was shifted, just a bit. She had been coming to this very room almost daily for years... how could it feel so strange?

"Cameron?" A hand on her shoulder. Like a fog being lifted, the real world seemed to snap back into place.

"Y-yeah, sorry. I think- I think I should go." What was she even doing? Where was she even going? She just needed to leave, needed to get out, get away.

She didn't know how she ended up in his room, but walking through the doorway was like a slap to the face. His face was bruised, an eye swollen shut. His torso was completely wrapped up with gauze, dark spots indicating dried blood. There were remnants of blood on his face and arms, and she found herself drawn closer, wishing she knew what had happened. She pulled up a chair and sat at his side, wondering.

What had they been doing out together? How would they end up in a situation like... this? She looked at his face, wondering what he knew that she didn't. Hang on. He was... His eyes slowly fluttered open, meeting hers. He blinked a few times in shock, staring at her as if she couldn't be real. Hesitantly, he reached his arms out, wrapping around her, pulling her closer to him. Their lips were only an inch away from meeting when she pulled back, terrified.

"What are you doing?"

He looked stunned, as if someone had just poked him with a cattle prod. "Kissing you."

"What?" She stepped back, head throbbing. It was so... out of the blue. Her breath quickened, heart thumping. Why would he kiss her? Why now? It's not like they were anything but coworkers, maybe friends at most. Why would that be his first priority?

Something seemed to click behind his gaze as he sat up on the bed, taking everything in. "Cameron, do you remember the incident?" he said, frowning.

She shook her head, slowly. "No..." Was there something she was supposed to know?

"What's the last thing you remember?"

She shrugged, trying to think back to beyond the insanity. Brief flashes of things she remembered, nothing solid enough to hang on to. "...Eating breakfast?"

Chase shifted slightly on the bed, wincing in pain. "Okay... what date do you think it is? Don't look at anything."

"November 9, 2005..?" She was guessing, really, but it seemed about right.

A sudden seriousness set into his features, a storm of emotions churning within the eye that was still open. "Cameron, that was six months ago."


	3. Chapter 3

What? Shock seemed to freeze her core, time standing still. She didn't feel like she was missing anything. How could she have forgotten without knowing? Without noticing anything?

"No, that can't be possible," she said, grabbing her head. "I can't-"

He grabbed her arms, steadying her. "It's okay. It's okay."

It wasn't okay at all. What had she missed? How much had changed? Nothing looked like it had changed. She scanned the room, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary.

He shook her gently, getting her attention back on him. "Cameron, amnesia is very common in cases of head trauma."

The corner of her mouth twitched. Did he think he was being reassuring? "I know. I'm a doctor."

"You'll probably get it back." She looked into his eyes, an unspoken admiration lighting them up. He did honestly, truly love her, didn't he? The thought twisted a knot in her gut. "I'm just- so glad you're okay. I thought I... thought I lost you."

Realization hit her like a glass of water to the face. She stared at him, gaze bordering from shock to horror. "Chase- are we-" It sat like a rock in her chest, but she had to know. "Are we... dating?"

He nodded wistfully. "Yeah."

She took a deep breath, letting the statement sink in. "How long?"

The smile was completely gone now, as his eyebrows scrunched up. "Four months." It was a barely audible whisper.

It was like her chest was constricting, her heart dropping down. "Chase-" It was like a tidal wave of guilt, washing over, drowning her. "I'm sorry."

He nodded, now holding his own hands in his lap. "It's not your fault."

She nodded, but the weight on her chest didn't change. If anything, it seemed to get heavier. Up until the point blinding pain shot through her head, and she staggered back.

"Cameron?"

She squinted her eyes through the pain, looking at the clock in the room. 3:45. "Damn." She wandered out of his room almost blindly, stumbling into her own, searching for the pill bottle. She popped out two as fast as she could, some of the tiny pills scattering across the table, and swallowed them as fast as she could. She sighed in relief as the pain ebbed away, at least to a tolerable amount.

"The mummy returns to her tomb."

She knew it was him before she even turned. "Seriously, House? What do you want?"

He pretended to be offended, placing his hands on his chest. "Is there something wrong with checking up on my employees?"

She rolled her eyes. "When it's you, yeah, there is. What do you want?" Her heart was beating faster, looking at him. He was a complete jerk. Why did she still get a rush looking at him? Was it the eyes? The attitude? The-

"I want to know what you're doing in my patient's room, taking my Vicodin."

She blinked, the thoughts of spending the night with House evaporating in an instant. "I-" She looked around, hesitantly. House was right. This wasn't her room at all. In fact, the patient was right in front of her, watching her with a confused terror.

"Who is this woman?" he inquired, hands shaking.

House ignored him. "Come on now, get out of here." He made a shooing motion with his hands, before looking down at the syringe he was holding. "Unless you want to do a biopsy for me. We're a little short handed at the moment."

Foreman walked up behind House in the doorway, arms crossed. "Come on, House. Leave her alone."

Cameron shook her head, brushing her hair back with a hand. "I'll do the biopsy." She took the syringe, walking toward the patient. It would keep her busy. Busy was good. If she was busy, she didn't have to think about the missing chunk of time in her head, didn't have to think about Chase.

House looked back, giving a small shrug. "Guess she'll do the biopsy."

The old man leaned up, concerned. "Sorry, is this safe? She's wearing a patient gown. Do you know this woman?"

"House-" Foreman started, stepping forward.

"Oh, relax." House sized her up. "Put a lab coat over that. Then run the tests."

Hours later, she was squinting at test results under a lab microscope. Negative. Again. She sighed, pushing her chair away from the desk. She had no idea what the problem was. Chase would know this stuff better. But even the thought of him seemed to physically hurt. She had spent more time than she would have liked to admit thinking about him. Thinking about... them. She had tried to imagine a thousand times how they had gotten together, what their relationship was like. She couldn't see it. Couldn't imagine splitting a meal, or falling asleep in front of the television. Even less so growing old together, or starting a family. Was she meant to tell him? She couldn't. It would... it would be too cruel. She might as well stab him again.

"So many tests, so little time." House threw his cane up in the air as he entered, catching it again. "I'm beginning to think you're trying to avoid something."

Cameron glared at him, glancing briefly at the results again before continuing. "The test results rule out-"

He walked closer, leaning almost menacingly over her. "Come on, what is it? You haven't visited Chase since he woke up, which would make sense, if you were Foreman. He's seen him twice since. Even a complete stranger you would've visited by now. I would think the whole getting stabbed thing would make him more attractive, not less. Was dinner really that bad?"

She stared at him blankly, blinking. Dinner? Was that what they were doing?

"Oh.  _Oh_." He pointed at her, a light going off behind his eyes. "You don't remember, do you? You're avoiding him because you don't want him to know." He started pacing, before stopping to point clasped hands at her. "Or he does know, and you just can't handle the guilt of forgetting."

She hated that man sometimes. Really, really hated him. "The tests were negative for sarcoidosis," she said coolly, getting up.

"See," he said, stopping her in her tracks, "that would be useful if you hadn't screwed up every single test." He tilted his head, narrowing his piercing blue eyes. "Which sounds bad, until you realize you've done only one. In five hours."

"What? No..." she put a hand up to her head. Everything was spinning. She couldn't... She grabbed onto the counter, stumbling. The room was closing in. She was falling. It felt... familiar somehow. Strong arms grabbed her from behind, carrying her back to the seat. It was comfy, comfier than she remembered, and she felt herself slipping away...

"You maniac, I can't believe you let her work! You're wasting valuable time, We're already understaffed-"

"Relax, Foreman, just get her back in bed. I have an idea."

Darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

The pain woke her up. It was like the million tiny needles that had shot into her head and grown. It was getting worse. Where was that damn Vicodin? She grabbed for the pill bottle, feeling something smooth and vaguely cylindrical...

A loud shattering noise, ringing through her ears. That was a glass. Cameron grabbed the sheets, trembling. The pain was still worsening, and she held on for dear life, her knuckles as pale as her face.

Light. Blindingly bright. She writhed in agony, pulling the sheets over her head. It left as quickly as it came.

"Doctor Cameron?"

She knew that voice. Who was it, though? She didn't know. She couldn't think straight. She was in too much pain.

"Cameron? Are you alright?" She heard the crunch of the visitor stepping on the broken glass. "Cameron?" She still didn't know who it was. A woman?

A warmer hand was put up to her cold, clammy forehead. "Oh my God. Have you taken the pills?"

She shook her head, making the smallest movements possible. "It hurts like hell."

She felt the small, hard pills brought up to her mouth, followed by water, and she swallowed them, arms wrapped around her knees, waiting for the pain to subside.

The woman stooped down, bringing her face close to hers. "Doctor Cameron, I know this may not be easy for you, but we need to talk. Meet me in my office when you're feeling a little better, alright?" Office? Whose office? Thinking felt impossible. She could hardly process what was happening.

A new presence was in the doorway, blocking the little light that filtered through it. "Doctor Cuddy? What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night."

Cuddy. The woman was Cuddy. Why  _would_  the dean of medicine be here?

"Just checking in," she replied, with a faint smile. "Is there something you need?"

The figure nodded. "Yeah, I was gonna run some tests. Try to find out the extent of the neurological damage caused."

"Go ahead and run them. But make sure she comes down to my office afterward."

"What's going on?" she whispered, huddled under the blankets. She was in trouble, wasn't she? Why else would the boss want to talk to her so badly? "Am I... getting fired?"

Cuddy recoiled in surprise. "Of course not, why would you think-"

She squinted at the silhouetted figure. "Who's in the doorway?"

The woman looked back, forehead creased in worry. "That's Doctor Foreman."

He walked closer, an equally concerned look on his face. "You don't recognize me?"

She squinted at his face, the features seeming strange for some reason, as if they were all shifted slightly. She checked them off in her head. Dark skin, the shadow of hair on his head... it was all there, but it wasn't right. "I do... you just look... different."

"How many black men in lab coats are running around this hospital?" He stopped, raising a hand up. "Actually, don't answer that."

Cuddy sighed, standing up. "I think you've got this under control," she said, taking a polite leave.

Foreman nodded and grabbed some gloves, pulling them on. "Okay, Cameron, I'm gonna take some..." He looked at the floor cautiously through the darkness, the glittery pieces of glass suddenly very visible in the scant rays of light that escaped the hall. "You know, I think I'm gonna call a janitor first."

"You wanted to see me?" She took a seat at the opposite side of the desk, fidgeting with her fingers. She rarely got called up to Cuddy's office. Everything that usually affected her was typically discussed through House. It had to be serious, or something that concerned her directly. She wouldn't be surprised if she ended up being chastised for something she didn't remember doing.

"Yes, and I don't think this should wait." She folded her hands on the desk. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks." That was only partially true. The pain was definitely at a lower level, but the nausea had returned, to some degree. Vicodin really did work its magic, she had to admit. No wonder House was an addict.

Cuddy sighed, getting up and closing the blinds despite the fact there was no one in the darkened halls. "I don't know how to tell you this, but..." She sat, clasping her hands together, too tightly. "Cameron, you're pregnant."

"What?"

She felt like she had been hit by a bus. She couldn't breathe; her heart was racing. She looked down at her abdomen, couldn't see anything unusual. "That can't be possible."

"You came in about a week ago, asking for an ultrasound."

She shook her head in disbelief. A baby. She had made a baby. In six months? "How... far along am I?"

"About seven weeks, I think." Cuddy walked over to her.

Still pretty early on, then. But... She turned her head away, thinking. Babies had fathers. She thought of Chase, lying in the hospital bed. If they were together, then... "Is the baby..."

"Yes?" She placed a hand on her shoulder, a warm, motherly look in her eyes as she gazed down at her.

She shook her head. "Is it... the father..."

She nodded, suddenly understanding. "It's Chase's, yes." She took a deep breath, seeming to pick out her words carefully before responding. "You told me you wanted to confirm the pregnancy before telling him."

"Does he... know?"

Cuddy shook her head. "I don't know, I'm sorry."

Cameron returned to her room, her head spinning from more than just the injury. Her pregnancy was just another item on the quickly growing laundry list of things she needed to tell Chase. Needed, but didn't want, to tell. How was she meant to break anything off when there was literally a tiny human being cementing them together? She lay down, tugging the thin sheets loosely over her body. The bed was stiff and unfamiliar. She'd seen them on a daily basis, yet, sleeping in one, sleeping in one was different. Despite living alone, she felt a strange emptiness around her, like lying in a dark void. The things that should be making her world seemed to be crumbling it beneath her unsteady feet.


	5. Chapter 5

She was holding someone's hand. They were walking side by side, through a field of brilliant yellow flowers. She felt peaceful, more at rest than she had for a long time, as if this was the one place she truly belonged. It felt... perfect, but something was off. She looked up at her companion, but she couldn't see them. It was like a thick fog was obscuring her vision, blocking everything above the chest.

"Who are you?"

The figure didn't respond, only squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Please, I need to know." She stopped walking.

The figure tilted their head. "Don't you know already?"

They were right. She did know. But before her lips could form a name, the image seemed to slowly fade away, replaced with the glow of the hospital room lights.

"Good morning," Foreman said, walking in holding her chart.

"Hey," she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Do you have my results?"

"Not yet," he said, "but I'm gonna ask you some questions, alright?"

She nodded, straightening up a bit.

"Have any new memories popped up at all? Any improvements from yesterday?"

Had there been? She looked at his face, trying to think if she had remembered anything. "You look less strange."

He smiled. "That's good to hear. Anything besides that?"

She shrugged, still unable to recall anything. "I don't know. I had a dream. It felt real."

"...Okay." Foreman nodded slowly. "Well, it's a bit concerning that you don't seem to be getting any large portions of memory back, seeing that it's been over 24 hours since the injury, but..." he looked down at her with an unreadable expression. "There's no indication that the memory loss is permanent yet. We'll know more after I do your MRI later this afternoon." He started to leave, but stopped, suddenly remembering something. "Oh yeah, and your parents said they'd be coming in."

She nodded, watching him leave. No real portions of memory had come back. But she hadn't done anything to change that. She'd been running away from the only person who knew what had happened, knew what her life was like in those six months. She couldn't keep hiding and wishing that it would all come back, that she would suddenly be in love again, that all the pieces would magically fall back into place. She had to know what she was missing... but that would mean talking to Chase.

House slammed his hands on the dean's desk, the sound ringing through the office. "What do you mean their clinic hours are mine?! I've got a patient who's dying here! I don't have time to tell people they're idiots for thinking their cold is Ebola!"

Cuddy sighed, unfazed, crossing her legs. "House, they can't work. Not in this current situation. Take some responsibility for your team."

"Give the hours to Foreman!"

She pressed her lips together, unamused. "Doctor Foreman has already agreed to take half of the uncovered clinic hours", she said slowly, as if talking to a small child. "Plus, he  _is_  currently in charge of Doctor Cameron's case."

House dismissed the thought, waving his hand. "We have other neurologists!"

Cuddy leaned across the desk, shooting daggers with her eyes. "Foreman wanted the case."

House scoffed. "Then cut him two-thirds, I don't care."

Cuddy shook her head, sitting back down with a sigh. "House. Please. I don't have any other bargaining chips here."

"I'm not taking those hours."

"Look, I've already arranged for a series of interviews, but until you hire someone, the clinic hours are split 50/50."

House raised an eyebrow. "You think I want to hire someone?"

Cuddy placed a pile of applicant files in front of him, looking intently into his eyes. "I think you  _need_  to hire someone."

He looked at the files as if they were a pile of dirty laundry. "And what makes you think that-"

"They would help cover the excess clinic hours, for one thing."

House nodded, considering this. He got up to leave, but turned his head at the last moment. "What did you tell Cameron last night?"

"What?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He blinked. "Did I stutter?"

"How do you know that I-"

"Oh, come on, it's obvious. For the last week, you've had this glazed over look in your eyes every time..." He narrowed his eyes, looking at her with the trace of a smug grin on his lips. "Ah." He walked out the door, stopping right before it swung shut, and stuck his head back in.

"So, is that shirt new? Because it really shows off your-"

"House."

"What happened that day?" Cameron demanded, marching through the door of his room.

Chase dropped the book he was reading, fumbling to keep it from falling off the bed. "What- why are you looking at me like that?"

She folded her arms over her chest tightly. "I need to know."

He continued to have a dumbfounded expression plastered onto his face. "Yeah, but you're looking at me like I'm the one who pushed you. We got mugged." He held her gaze a moment before looking away, unable to maintain eye contact. "And I was stupid enough to try to look brave in front of you."

"I'm sorry." Her heart sank as he looked back up at her like a dejected puppy. Not because of the somewhat predictable cause of their injuries, but because of the love that seemed to pour out of his every orifice looking at her. Love that she didn't reciprocate, couldn't reciprocate. She pulled up a chair, somewhat awkwardly, in an attempt to lighten the mood. "How are you feeling?"

"Great, actually," he said with a cheesy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Though that might be just the morphine talking."

She nodded, unsure of how to react. "Do... you want to talk about the stuff I don't remember?" As long as he was telling her things, she didn't have to tell him anything back. She didn't want to even think about telling him anything yet. Definitely not about the incoming little bundle of joy.

His eyes lit up. "Yeah." He twiddled his thumbs, unsure of how to start. "Well... before we started dating, I fell in love with you, and you couldn't have cared less."

She smirked, if only for a second. That sounded familiar. Maybe too familiar.

"Anyway, I was convinced that you loved me too, and..." he laughed, looking down, "I decided to remind you, every Tuesday, that I liked you, until you would admit it." He shook his head. "It's so stupid now that I look back on it."

Cameron felt her head shake reflexively. She was trying to picture what he was saying, trying to see herself living through these events, trying to remember. Nothing. She felt nothing. It was no different than hearing someone describe a dream that she had happened to feature in. She looked back quickly, realizing he was still talking.

"...I had basically given up before you showed up at my door telling me you wanted to hear me say it, just one more time." He looked at her fondly, the expression faltering when he saw that her face was almost devoid of emotion. "Sorry, do you want me to stop?"

"No, go on," she insisted. "It's just... it's weird hearing things about me that I can't remember happening. You could lie to me and I wouldn't even know."

He nodded, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Anyway, we went out that night, and I guess that was our first real date."

It didn't feel as strange as she was worried it would be to sit and listen to the stories. In fact, she was grateful to be able to fill in some of the gaps. Chase wasn't the greatest storyteller, often going on long tangents and laughing at his own jokes. Yet, despite it all, she was so wrapped up in it all that she almost didn't realize that she was smiling too.

A loud clattering noise rang down the hallway, snapping her out of the trance. It was getting louder, frantic footsteps pattering behind it.

"House, what do you think you're doing?!" Foreman ran down the hall, quickly catching up with the whiteboard-pushing doctor.

"Cuddy hasn't gotten me a team yet." He rolled the board into the room, the cacophony of the wheels bouncing off the walls. "Good to see that everyone's here," he announced, addressing them like a class.

Foreman sighed, standing in the doorway. "Cameron is concussed. Her cognitive function is-"

"He's not," House said, pointing at Chase, before looking back. "What, you thought everyone could just get a free 'hurt' pass?"

Foreman frowned. "That's what usually happens when you're injured, yes."

"Not at this hospital, Eric," House retorted, smirking at Foreman's displeased reaction to hearing his first name. "Otherwise I'd have never showed up at all."

"You show up late every day!" Foreman exclaimed.

"And yet,  _you_  are always on time."

Foreman rolled his eyes, looking away.

While the neurologist sulked, Chase was scrutinizing the symptoms on the board. "Which ones are the most recent?"

"Top to bottom," House snapped. "Did you hit your head too?"

Chase shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, it's you. You never know."

Cameron squinted at the words on the board, despite knowing it couldn't be good for her brain. Rash, stomach pain, elevated white count... She read the list twice before something clicked. "These symptoms look a lot like that one guy, the bowler."

"Yeah, you're..." Chase started, before snapping his eyes to Foreman's, "...right. That was two months ago."

"Yeah, I know," she said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. She looked up, eyes widening. "Wait."

The two men were in awe. "You remembered something," Foreman said, before turning and rushing out of the room.

"Seriously?" House exclaimed, raising his arms in the air.

Foreman walked back in with a clipboard, jotting down notes. "Sorry. Just got to make a note of this."

"Right. Can we talk about  _my_  patient?"

Cameron shrugged. "Male, mid sixties, no history of-"

House wagged his finger in her face. "Uh uh uh, you're concussed." He stopped, reconsidering. "Or maybe that's just a really good excuse to tell you to shut up whenever I want. Go sit in the corner and look pretty." He looked at Chase. "And you, quit ogling. She's not going anywhere."

"I'm not ogling," he said, looking somewhat offended.

"Right, and I don't have a bum leg." House tapped his cane on the board. "Differential diagnosis."

Chase shrugged. "Could be a parasite. That could explain the brain inflammation and elevated white count."

House looked at Foreman with a pointed look. "I told you this was a good idea."

Foreman sighed. "Doesn't seem to correlate with the fever. It could simply be a neurological issue. There might be underlying causes that we've overlooked."

"Pneumonia?" Chase suggested.

"Doesn't explain the rash," House said, pointing the marker at the mentioned symptom.

Cameron wrapped her arms around her knees, looking out the open door. A nurse was pushing a cart down the hallway, filled with miscellaneous medical equipment. It felt weird to be on the other side of operations, not that she hadn't been in hospitals before as a patient. She had gotten check-ups and the like, just like every other person, but being in this hospital, the one she happened to work at, definitely felt different.

A thwack to the arm made her look back at the others in the room, a small bottle rolling back and forth on the floor.

"I guess she didn't catch," House mused, knocking it closer to her with his cane.

She leaned over and picked the small container up. House's Vicodin. "What...?"

"You take some out and swallow it," he said, writing something on the board.

She tipped it over, knocking out two of the small, white pills. House turned his head, looking back. "With your mouth. How hard did you hit your head?"

She glared at him, swallowing the pills dry.

"Okay, so Chase-" he looked at the man lying in the bed before turning and pointing- "Foreman, start him on broad spectrum antibiotics, and..." he scanned the occupants of the room quickly, "Foreman, go check out their place afterwards."

Foreman sighed. "I guess it's all me now," he said, throwing his hands up in defeat as he walked out of the room.

"Cameron," House announced, watching the neurologist leave, "let's talk in the hall."

Great. Whatever he had to say, it couldn't be good. Something outrageous and morally bankrupt, maybe some deep, dark secret she didn't even know she was keeping. She stood, following him out. "What's going on?"

House leaned on his cane, the motion causing him to loom over her smaller frame. "Does Chase know that you're pregnant?"

Shock contracted her chest as she looked at him, outraged. "How do you know that? Did Cuddy tell you?"

"You think I need her to tell me? Come on, give me more credit." He tapped his chin with a finger. "Interestingly enough, a lot of the symptoms you've been exhibiting could be from either the head injury or the metaphorical bread in the oven. Convenient cover-up, huh? Now, I'm assuming by the horrified look on your pretty face that he doesn't know. In that case..." He stuck his head back into the room. "She's pregnant."

Cameron's face somehow contorted into a more outraged expression as she marched up to him, resisting the urge to shove him into the wall. "You bastard!"

House shrugged. "He was going to find out sooner or later."

"Cameron," Chase called from the bed.

House's pager beeped, and he looked down at it briefly before putting it back on his waistband. "Whoops, looks like I have an interview to go to. Have fun talking to daddy." He walked away without a passing glance.

She should've known he would find out. She should've known he would tell. Slimy, dark dread wrestled with the white-hot threads of anger in her stomach. She walked huffily back into the room and sat back in the same seat.

"Is it true?" Chase said, eyes wide.

She looked at him, blue eyes shining with hope, and she could feel the annoyed expression melting away.

"Cameron?" He repeated, reaching out a hand to try and take hers.

She ignored his hand, and he awkwardly dropped it back into his lap. "Yeah. It's true."

He shook his head, completely at a loss. "That's amazing," he whispered. "That's absolutely amazing."

Shoot. He was happy. What if it was intentional? There was no way she could... rob him of the chance to be a dad. "Were we... trying to get pregnant?"

He shook his head again, stunned. "Not at all." He looked at her, face completely slack. "We're gonna be parents," he whispered.

She had to tell him. She couldn't keep this facade up any longer, couldn't entertain false hope. "Chase, I..." I don't love you, she thought, but the words didn't come out.

He didn't seem to have noticed what she was trying to say. "How did you find out?"

She was almost glad to avoid it. "Cuddy told me I went in for an ultrasound a week ago."

The look in his eyes seemed to harden, a sudden seriousness turning his soft features to stone. "You need to get another one. Fast."

She looked at him, confused. What did he mean? The baby wasn't going anywhere.

"The baby, Cameron," he said, a gentle look of concern melting the hardness away. "We need to make sure nothing happened during... when we got mugged."

"I-" she looked away. "I don't even know if I want to keep it yet."

It was his turn to be confused. "What? Why?"

She shrugged, not knowing what to say. She had to tell him now. There was no going back. "Because...because I don't love you."

To her surprise, he didn't seem too affected. He didn't break down, didn't cry, didn't even look particularly sad. He nodded once. "I know."

"I don't want to give you false hope, I..." She shook her head. His indifference wasn't comforting, it just made things harder. This was an enormous deal, how could he just sit around? Couldn't he tell how important a decision this was? "Just think about it," she insisted. "Imagine our kid grows up. She'll say, 'why don't daddy and mommy love each other?' She'll ask about us, and I'll say, 'I don't know, sweetie, I don't know.'"

He took this in, nodding again.

"How can you be so calm?" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands in frustration.

He shrugged. "Because I know you'll make the right choice. I'm not worried."

She shook her head, standing up. "Those drugs are messing with your head," she huffed, walking out. She didn't look behind as she left.


	6. Chapter 6

"This again, huh?" House looked up to see his best friend, boy wonder oncologist James Wilson, walking in. He took a seat beside House's desk, leaning back in the chair. "Are you just going to reject every applicant again?"

Again. House thought back to the brief period when Cameron had quit, and he had refused to hire another person. He tossed his red and gray oversized tennis ball into the air, catching it. "This time it's only temporary. I only have to put up with them for a few weeks."

Wilson raised his bushy eyebrows, grinning. "You mean they only have to put up with  _you_  for a few weeks."

House pointed at his friend, smirking. "Ah." He pulled up the first file, flipping through it without reading the contents.

"Hi." A young man stood at the door, short cropped red hair and a face full of freckles. "I'm-"

House flipped the file open to the first page, frowning. "Dr. Kyle McConnell." He looked up at the thin, unassuming man. "Well. Maybe I only need  _one_  new candidate."

"What, so he's hired?" Wilson asked incredulously.

"No, but if every candidate is  _this_  below standard, we're having all further discussions in Doctor Chase's room." He looked over at Wilson, raising an eyebrow. "You know, the one who can still work."

Wilson's eyebrows wrinkled up, dark eyes filled with disbelief. "You haven't even met the guy!"

"Oh, come on, just look at him." House gestured at the applicant with his cane.

Wilson turned his head to look. "He looks fine."

"Um, I'm right here," the man said, raising a hand nervously.

"I want a doctor with confidence," House said, crossing his legs on his desk. " _He_  couldn't even introduce himself."

Wilson splayed his hands out. "You didn't let him!"

The man was somehow in a more awkward pose than when he came in, arms wrapped around his body like limp noodles. "Sorry- should I leave?"

"See? He's already given up." House tilted his head up to meet the eyes of the confused young man. "Get out of here."

He gathered his things and left in a hurry, and House tossed his file in the trash.

"Really? You're not gonna give him a chance?"

"He had a chance. He blew it."

Wilson sighed. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

 

Cameron sat at the edge of her bed, shaking two pills out of the bottle she was given and chasing them down with a swig of water. It felt like that was all she had been doing all day, taking Vicodin. Thinking had somehow become more painful, so she had done nothing but lie in bed since she left Chase's room. She hadn't done the ultrasound yet, hadn't even considered asking yet. She didn't think she wanted to know what she would find.

"Allison?"

She looked up. Her parents had just entered the room, walking to the bedside.

"Hey. Mom. Dad."

Her mother sat down, cupping a hand to her face. "We're sorry your brother couldn't make it, he had some business he needed to take care of."

"It's fine," she said, with a faint smile. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course," her father said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

Her head was throbbing. "Fine. You don't need to worry. Really. I'll be fine." The smile took more effort to keep on her face than she expected.

"Oh." Her dad seemed to have felt it too. "Have you eaten?"

"Yeah." She didn't know the last time she had eaten. The dinner she couldn't remember?

Her mother smiled, but her eyes gave away the poorly concealed concern. "Doctor Foreman told us about your memory problem. Are you coping okay?"

She thought about the tumultuous past few days. "Yeah."

"You know who we are?" her dad said, trying in vain to make a joke.

Her lips were pressed tightly together before she spoke. "Yes."

Her mother tugged lightly on her father's arm. "We're gonna grab some lunch. Take care of yourself, sweetheart."

"Always."

They left somewhat reluctantly, passing Foreman and exchanging some quick greetings as he walked back in with a clipboard.  
He turned his head back momentarily. "Your parents, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you let them go just like that?" He looked at her quizzically. "Who are you and what did you do with Cameron?"

She lay back down on the bed, letting the corner of her mouth twitch up. "Right, I've been replaced with another person."

Foreman raised his eyebrows. "Okay, this is going on your chart."

A light seemed to flash before her eyes. "What?" Was he crazy? She sat up. "Just because I didn't want to talk to my parents?"

"Mhm." He nodded, writing something down.

She shook her head in disbelief, but didn't try to argue further. There was a sudden throbbing pain distracting her.

"It's fine. Moodiness is bound to happen, but it's a symptom nonetheless."

Why was he talking down to her? They were supposed to be equals. Did he think she was stupid? "I'm not-" she huffed, crossing her arms. "Okay. Fine. Maybe I'm a little 'moody'. Sue the pregnant woman."

Foreman almost dropped the clipboard, looking up in astonishment. "You're  _what_? Who else knows?"

She shrugged hostilely. "Basically everyone, thanks to House."

He nodded, slowly. "And why am I, your doctor, the last person to know?"

She shrugged again. "Too busy breaking into houses, I guess. You find anything, by the way?"

Foreman seemed slightly irked by her uncharacteristic brashness, but shrugged it off. "Nothing particularly interesting. Typical suburban home." He put the clipboard down, walking closer. "Anyway, I'm here for your MRI, if you'd-"

A flash. She wasn't in the hospital anymore. It was dark. Someone was there. She wasn't safe. They were going to hurt her. "Get away from me!" she screamed, desperately trying to distance herself from the person. An instinctive drive kicked in, and she grabbed the nearest thing, raising it up into the air.

"Whoa. Whoa! Hey!"

Whatever had taken over her body snapped away as quickly as it came. What was she doing? Her arms shook, barely carrying the stand that held an IV bag, swinging side to side from the sudden movement.

"Put it down," Foreman said firmly, his hands also grasped tightly around the pole. "I'm going to let go, okay? Can you hear me?"

She nodded. He took a deep breath, letting go and taking two steps back. It was like the weight of her own body was crushing herself, and she practically fell back onto the bed, the stand rolling harmlessly to the side.

She lay in the MRI, staring at the curved, plastic ceiling. "I'm sorry," she muttered as he set up the machine. "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

He chuckled good-naturedly. "Well, at least you're acting like yourself again. I should've guessed there might've been PTSD earlier. But someone's kept me a little busy." He walked behind the glass, pressing a final few buttons before leaning into the mic. "Just stay still and we'll get this over quick."

The banging noises of the machine were somehow louder than they usually were, seeming to pierce straight through her skull, shaking up its contents. Each subsequent bang felt worse than the last, and she felt a strong dizziness start to engulf her.

"Cameron? You okay?"

"Don't really feel too great," she managed to force out, teeth gritted tight.

"Hang on, almost done. Just stay still."

She closed her eyes, squeezing them as tight as she could without moving her head. The nausea was overwhelming. She didn't think she could take it anymore. She was going to-

The banging stopped, and without a second's hesitation, she pulled herself over to the edge and threw up on the ground. Her vision was still spinning, but she could tell through the haze that the vomit was nothing but water.

"Oh, shoot!" Foreman ran out, putting a hand on her back. "I should've stopped it. I'm sorry."

She would've shaken her head if it wasn't for the circumstances. "No, you had to. It's okay."

He looked at the ground, frowning. "When did you last eat?"

She didn't move, afraid of increasing the pain. "Don't know."

"But you told your dad-"

"I lied." She was gripping the edge for dear life, chest heaving up and down.

He looked at the ground again pensively. "I... guess I'll call the janitor again. But after that, what do you think about lunch?" She could feel his gaze shift over to her. "Just to try and bring some normalcy back into things."

She half-smiled at the floor. "I'm pretty sure my parents are still in the cafeteria."

"I'm sure we can figure something out." A sudden beeping filled the room, and Foreman looked down at his pager. "I've got to go. Patient's in cardiac arrest. You know where your room is, right?" Then he was gone, and she was left alone with her thoughts again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we get closer to the disease I've entirely made up, please note that I know absolutely nothing about medicine and that anything medical is probably not accurate. For the sake of enjoyment, suspend disbelief.

"The patient's condition has not improved. I'm thinking a more targeted approach is necessary. Any new ideas?" House looked around the room. "Hey." He whacked his cane on the plastic bedside, knocking Chase awake. "Can nap time wait?"

"Dammit, House, I've been stabbed, alright?" He grumbled, reluctantly sitting up.

"Right, your head still works. I need new ideas. Where's Foreman?"

"He's getting the last batch of test results," Cameron said, who had taken the same seat as she had earlier.

"You," House said, pointing at her, "what part of 'get out' do you not get?"

"Probably just hit my head too hard."

Foreman rushed in, carrying papers along with something wrapped in foil. He dropped the foil package into Cameron's lap, before reorganizing the papers. "Sorry I'm late."

The package was warm, and she opened it to reveal a sandwich. Ham and cheese, the latter melting out the sides.

"A promise is a promise," he said with a smile.

She looked at him, noticing for the first time the pronounced dark circles under his eyes. "When's the last time that you slept?"

He shook his head, dismissing the concern. "About two days ago. Eat the sandwich."

She complied, bringing it up to her mouth. It hurt to chew, but the smell was intoxicating, and the desire to eat won over as she continued consuming it.

"I did the Lumbar puncture."

"And?" House tapped his cane on the bedside again, as Chase was nodding off.

"It looks like MS, but that doesn't cover all the symptoms."

House nodded. "So, two things at once. Chase?"

He rubbed his eyes. "I don't know... might just be a really bad allergy."

House looked at him. "That's a stupid answer and you know it. Any allergic reactions would have disappeared when he was brought in."

It was clear from the look on his face that Chase wasn't having it that day. "You're the one who keeps waking me up!" Chase yelled, a fire burning behind his eyes.

House didn't seem to care. "Right, and you're the one peeing into a bag." He cocked his head. "Sorry, thought we were stating the obvious."

"It's possible there might have been an undetected allergen nearby," Cameron said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "We could double check his room."

House rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Ms. Brain Damaged. You're a genius."

"Look," Chase started, sitting up straighter, "I'm in the damn ICU, Cameron had her head practically knocked open, and Foreman is overworked half to death. Just hire the next person who walks into your office, or do something for yourself for once. This isn't going to work. I'm done."

House contemplated this, staring off into the distance, before nodding once. "Enjoy nap time," he said, before limping off.

"Wow," Foreman said, looking out the door. "Did House just listen to you?" He shook his head, a stunned look on his face. "...Anyway, I'll check for allergens. I still think Chase might've had a point with that." He stopped, staring at the rest of the team's blank faces. "What? What's behind me?"

A police officer stood outside the door, hands on his hips. Foreman froze, stepping back. The last thing he wanted was to get tangled up with the law again.

Chase leaned over. "You think they finally caught on that we've been breaking into houses the last two years?" he whispered, not daring to raise his voice.

The officer walked in, somewhat warily. "Hi. I'm from the Princeton P.D. Are you Dr. Robert Chase?"

He nodded. "...Yeah."

"I'm Officer Johnson," he said, sticking out a hand. Chase took it, watching the man cautiously. "I'd like to ask you some questions about what happened two days ago."

Foreman, somewhat relieved, flashed a cheeky grin before slipping out of the room.

The cop turned to Cameron. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to leave the room. This is confidential information."

"No-" Chase stammered, too quickly, "she was there. It's fine."

The officer nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "Did you notice anything about your attackers that would help identify them? Tattoos? Hair color?"

"I uh, well, I don't remember what they looked like," Chase said, scratching his head. "They had black ski masks, I couldn't see their faces."  
"Do you know what might've motivated the attack?"

He shook his head. "No," he said, pausing before continuing, "except for maybe my stubbornness."

The officer nodded, jotting down notes. "Nobody you would suspect it to be, or-"

"No, nothing like that."

* * *

 

Foreman studied the woman who had been perched in front of the patient's window for hours. Forehead creased in worry, thin strands of bright blonde hair framing her thin, pale face.

"Are you Mrs. Stevens?"

The woman nodded as she turned to face him, her tear filled eyes still shining with some hope.

"I'm Doctor Foreman, I'm one of the doctors on your husband's case." Okay, well, one of two was still one of. "Has your family made any changes to your routine recently? Started a new soap, cleaner, medicine, anything like that?"

She shook her head. "No, we've been using the same stuff for the last twenty years. Roger, he doesn't really like change. I guess that's why he's kept me around this long." She tried to laugh it off, but her eyes betrayed a deeper set sadness.

Foreman nodded. "And have you noticed any changes in personality, habits, new hobbies-"

BEEP BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP BEEP. The patient's heart monitor. Something had gone terribly wrong.

Foreman rushed inside, trying to assess the situation as quickly as he could. The man wasn't breathing.

"Oh my God!" The woman screamed, following behind.

"I need you to stay outside!" He was running out of time. Fast. "Get me a nurse in here!" He stuck a bag over the man's mouth, pumping air into his lungs. "Chase, I need-" He reached out, hand closing around thin air. He needed that syringe. But it was too far. He was alone.

He let go of the bag, reaching for the syringe, and grabbing it, just barely. He fumbled for the medicine, reaching back to pump another few breaths. He let go to fill the syringe with the liquid, tipping it up to squeeze residual air out of it. One squeeze. One movement. He could do this. He could-

The long, droning beep of failure. Ringing in his ears. The man had no pulse. He dropped the syringe back on the tray, ripping open the man's gown while trying to get the defibrillator started. He picked up the paddles, own pulse racing in his ears. His arms were shaking as two nurses rushed in, quickly realizing they couldn't do anything. It wouldn't work. The man was dead. There was no way. He shook his head, placing the paddles down on the man's chest.

"Clear!" he yelled, before administering the first shock. The man's body jerked into the air, but otherwise didn't respond. Once. Twice. Three times. "Please... come on..." He kept trying, each attempt more frenzied than the last, before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Foreman dropped the paddles to the side, wiping the sweat off his brow. His heart rate gradually slowed, breaths becoming more steady, as a bitter taste filled his mouth. Time of death, 1:27 PM.

* * *

 

House walked into his office, letting the glass door shut behind him. Wilson was already there, digging into his unidentifiable lunch.

"Something from home?"

Wilson twirled his fork, a piece of food stuck on the end of it. "Oh yeah. Chicken tikka masala. And no, you can't have any."

House sat in his chair, spinning side to side. "Who said I wanted any?"

Wilson swallowed the bite he had taken. "Oh come on, there might as well be a light over my head every time I eat."

He looked above his friend's head. "Who said there wasn't?"

Wilson pointed a finger at him accusingly. "No, you are not making me look up."

House made a mocking sad face. "But the next interviewee is up there."

"Actually," a voice cut in, as a young woman took the opposite seat. "I'm right here. Hailey Fletcher."

She stuck out a hand. House didn't seem to have noticed it.

"You're hired."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Do I have to say it twice?"

The woman shook her head, smiling. "That's great, I've been trying to find a job ever since my last boss-"

House waved a hand in her face. "Don't care. You've got the job provided you can start now."

The blonde pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, a smug grin on her face. "Sure. I've had nothing better to do for a while."

House pushed a file across the desk. "Find out what's wrong with this guy."

The door swung open, and Foreman walked in. "Forget it, House. He's dead." Without another word, he walked away.

Wilson took a deep breath. "House-"

The man stood up, grabbed his cane, and left the room.


	8. Chapter 8

Cameron found herself walking the halls of the hospital aimlessly. It was better than being in that bed any longer. She just needed to clear her had, needed a change of pace. If anything, she was glad she had the option to roam around, not being confined to her room. Those cheesy medical dramas were only interesting for an hour at most before it became repetitive drivel. She didn't know how House could ever find them entertaining. So some attractive young doctor couldn't keep it in his pants. So what? Oh whoops, made too many children with too many women.

She sat on a bench in the hallway, adjusting her gown so it wouldn't ride up her legs. To be fair, she'd fit right into one of those dramas now. Lost memory and a baby. Next thing she knew she'd find out that the baby's father was someone entirely different. Maybe it was Wilson, she thought, rolling her eyes at the idea. If there was one thing that continued to worry her though, it was the missing chunk of time in her head. She wasn't sure how memories were supposed to come back, how she would know if she remembered something. She knew they were missing, but it didn't feel like it. It almost felt like she was living a lie that was all too real. The actress in the drama who couldn't remember her part. She leaned back and closed her eyes. The one who didn't know her part, but had to play it anyway. There was an entire person growing inside her. She put a hand on her stomach and tried to picture herself as a mother, grasping a tiny hand in her own.

Excited shrieking filled her ears, as the pitter patter of small feet rang down the hall. "Mommy! Mommy!"

Her eyes snapped open. A little girl, about eight or nine, ran down the hall and jumped into her mother's arms, the latter of which was in a wheelchair.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said, wrapping her arms around the girl. "You've gotten so big!" Cameron found herself staring, almost longingly. She remembered caring for baby dolls when she was younger, always wanting to be a mother herself.

"It hasn't been that long, Mommy," the girl insisted. "Look at what I made at camp!" She held her wrist proudly in the air, and her mother held it in her hand, admiring the simple bead bracelet wrapped around it. Cameron looked at her own empty hand. It really wasn't a question of if she wanted to start a family. She just didn't know if she was ready.

The dad caught up, giving his wife a quick peck on the cheek. "Who's ready to go home?"

She looked at him, doing a quick double take. He looked a lot like her first husband, so much so that she felt the slight sting of loss by looking at him. She had known then, known that being with him would never lead to a family. Knew that marrying him was only temporary. It didn't make it hurt less when he died.

She watched the family go down the hall, her eyes trailing the man's face. Come to think of it, he looked a little like... Chase. She looked down, unable to stare any longer.

She had that chance now. The chance to start a family with someone. She just didn't know if she could love that someone. Yet... She looked down, trying to picture the new life growing inside her, little limbs forming, moving for the first time. She put a hand on her abdomen, trying to sense the baby. She didn't feel anything, but she knew she had already decided.

* * *

 

Wilson found him on the rooftop, sitting on the edge facing inwards. A mild breeze ruffled his hair, and he looked up at the fading afternoon light. Despite the circumstances, it was still beautiful outside.

House's head was bowed, hands clasped in his lap, making no indication of acknowledgment. "Don't- don't start your spiel, alright? I don't want to hear it."

Wilson walked over, taking a seat besides his friend. "House, patients die. It happens every day in this hospital. You know that."

"I just needed more time. I swear... multiple organ failures... stomach pain... a rash?"

Wilson frowned. Was he still trying to diagnose a dead man? "You don't care about this man, do you? You're just upset you couldn't figure it out."

"I'm  _upset_  because my patient's dead," he snapped.

"Your patient's dead because you overworked people fresh out of a traumatic incident!"

House didn't respond, but the stiffness of his posture clued out that the oncologist had struck a nerve.

He sighed, shoulders slumping. "I get it. You believe in your team, and you're afraid of change. But people have limits, House. And so do you."

He shook his head. "I should've seen it earlier."

"Either way, sulking about it isn't going to help."

House bounced his cane on the ground. "I'm not sulking. I'm trying to figure out the cause of death."

"You're hung up on something you can no longer change. What's the difference?"

"The ground's right behind you," he said loudly, avoiding the conversation. "Give or take seven floors."

Wilson looked down, scanning over the rows of parked vehicles. "I think I'd hit your bike first. I'd imagine you wouldn't want blood stains on your impeccable leather seat."

"That handicap spot is awfully close, huh?" House frowned, suddenly deep in thought.

"What? What is it?"

He stood up, leaning on his cane before hobbling away.

Wilson watched him walk away, glancing briefly at the closest row of cars down below. At the very least, no one had become a splat on the pavement.

* * *

 

Cuddy ran a hand through her hair, sighing. "I don't know how I didn't think of this earlier."

Cameron propped herself up on the exam bed, leaning back. "Don't worry. You've got a lot on your plate."

The dean of medicine smiled sadly, looking at her briefly before continuing to calibrate the machine. "Thank you, but I'm in charge of this hospital. I should be looking out for my employees."

"Of which there are many."

Cuddy leaned over, applying the gel to her stomach. "Well, that's still no excuse." It was cold and sticky, and Cameron took a deep breath, a sudden rush of anxiety hitting her.

She was about to find out soon, whether she wanted to or not. Whether the baby was okay. Whether or not she would have to figure things out with Chase. Whether or not she'd be taking a plunge into motherhood.

She felt the transducer get placed down, searching around her uterus, and she turned her head away from the screen instinctively. She didn't know if she wanted to know. The rest of her life was hinged on this one moment. She didn't even know what she wanted.

"Cameron?"

She turned, eyes still avoiding the screen. She looked at Cuddy's face, searching for a hint of an answer. She was smiling, wider than she thought she had ever seen. She shook her head, a glossy look coming over her eyes. "It's perfectly fine."

"Oh my God." A wave of relief crashed over her body, leaving Cameron trembling. "I-" She slid off the bed as if in a trance, wrapping her arms around the dean. "Thank you."

She felt her recoil in surprise, before returning a hug that felt stiffly professional at first, but softened after a moment. "Let's get you cleaned up, alright?"

Oh, right. "Sorry," she stammered, pulling herself back on to the bed. She felt she should say something, reaching for words to break the silence. "Have you ever wanted to be a mother?"

Cuddy didn't respond, gently wiping the goo off of her. She threw the wipe away in a nearby bin and sighed. "Every day."

Cameron blinked up at the ceiling, trying to repress the hordes of butterflies that churned through her stomach. "You'll get the chance, one day," she said out of reflex, but her mind had gone wandering away. How was she going to tell him? What would she even say? Oh God, she had to tell her parents, too, didn't she?

"We're all done. Do you need me to walk back with you?"

She tried to recite the lines in her head. Hi, Chase. I still don't remember ever loving you, but we're going to be parents in approximately 7 months. No, that didn't sound right. We're friends, we can figure this out, right? You're good with kids, aren't you?

"Doctor Cameron."

She blinked a couple times. "Yeah, I can walk back on my own."

* * *

 

She walked in quickly, unable to control the jittery feeling that had taken control of her. "Chase," she said breathily.

He looked up in surprise, the room's phone pressed against his ear. "Yeah. I'll call you back, sis."

"I got the ultrasound." She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. She couldn't stop the smile that felt permanently fixed to her face, though. "Everything is fine. Everything is great, really."

Chase raised his eyebrows. "That- that's wonderful. Have you... decided what you want to do?"

She nodded, taking a few more steps in. "Look, I- I still don't remember much of what happened in the last six months. I don't know if I ever will. But I can't just get stuck in the past." She looked at him, the image blurring slightly as tears filled her eyes. "Chase... I don't know what the future means for us, but... I'm willing to try." She took a shaky breath, wiping her eyes quickly, refocusing the picture. "Robert Chase, will you go on a date with me?"

He took her hand, brows furrowed. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

She nodded, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Yes."

"Then..." He looked down, a smile slowly twisting out of his features. "Absolutely."

A noise she didn't know she could make escaped her lips as she threw her arms around him, inducing a small yell of pain. It was like a pot inside her was bubbling over with liquid happiness, and she nestled her face in his shoulder. It felt familiar, as if it was ringing a bell she couldn't hear. Stunned, he wrapped his arms around her, the grip going tighter with shaky relief.

"I've missed you," he whispered, almost in disbelief that she was really there, that she was real and in his arms again.

She pulled back a little so she could see his face. "I don't- I don't even know if I should be hugging you," she said with a small, awkward laugh.

Chase winked, a light dancing behind the deep blue of his eyes. "Don't worry. If anything happens, I've got the best doctor in the hospital right here."

Before she could even process what she was doing, she found herself leaning forward, pressing her lips against his. He recoiled in surprise, before returning the kiss, more desperately than she had expected. Yet, it wasn't unpleasant. It was warm, safe. Like a hot drink on a cold day, or a blanket fresh out the dryer. Cameron felt a flame ignite in her stomach, like burnt ashes smoking into embers once again. It felt... right. She pulled away, breathless.

"That line was pretty good, wasn't it?" Chase said, smirking.

"That was the worst thing I've ever heard," she said, but she was smiling, feeling truly content for the first time since the accident. "I wouldn't be any use if you tore your stitches. I'm not a surgeon. You are."

He laughed. "I guess you've got me there. I suppose I could resign to the terrible fate of dying in your arms."

"Oh, not this again," House groaned as he limped in. He tossed a case file in their direction, and Chase barely caught it, pressing it up against Cameron's back.

"House, we're off the case," he said, annoyed.

"This," House said, pointing his cane at the file, "is not the same case. The first guy is dead. And now we've got two more with the same symptoms. Figure it out before we have an epidemic."

"He's what?" Cameron exclaimed, eyes widening in shock. "That's impossible, it's only been a few days-"

A young woman in a lab coat walked in, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. "Dr. House, what are you doing here? I've been looking all over for you. Who are these people? Are they more patients?"

House looked at the the two team members, then back to the woman. "Yes."

She frowned. "They don't seem to have the same symptoms..."

House nodded at the two. "Truly a genius." He leaned over, pretending to whisper. "I took your advice," he said, out loud.

"Hang on," Chase said, "why is she wearing my lab coat?"

The woman looked down. "Oh, so you're-" she scrutinized the embroidering on her chest- "Doctor Chase? Doctor House said it belonged to someone who doesn't work in the hospital anymore."

"Were you honestly too lazy to ask Cuddy for a new one?"

House ignored the question. "This, is Doctor..." he gestured at her.

"Fletcher. Hailey Fletcher. I suppose I'm your temporary replacement." She turned to Cameron. "And you are...?"

"A brain-damaged idiot," House said, giving her a passing glance.

"I.. am not an idiot," she said huffily

"See, that's what an idiot would say."

Cameron sighed, rolling her eyes. "I'm Doctor Cameron. I guess we'll be working together once I'm cleared to work again."

"Also known as right now. You're cleared."

"Foreman never-"

House shrugged. "It's not that hard to forge a signature."

Cameron got up, walking over. "You can't do that. I'll tell Cuddy-"

"Tell her what? That you're going to let these poor people die because you just  _really_  needed that vacation time?"

"It's not her responsibility!" Chase yelled, fists wadding up handfuls of his sheets.

Cameron sighed. "It's fine. I'll... do whatever I can."

"Great," House said, looking at Chase, who continued to glower back. "He'll do the thinking, you'll get samples, and Foreman will run the tests. You can draw blood without killing someone, right?"

"I..." She honestly had no clue. Was there a chance... Her eyes grew wide with realization. Was there a chance that what she had done to the patient had led to his death? "I can't."

"You didn't kill him," House said, looking down, "I did an autopsy on the first patient."

"Then you should know what it is," Chase said, frowning. "Why are we still running tests?"

"Because," Foreman said, walking in, "this looks like something we've never seen before." He looked around the room. "Does anyone know where Cameron's file is, by the way?"


	9. Chapter 9

Cameron could feel the new doctor behind her shoulder, watching everything she was doing.

"Am I just supposed to stand around and do nothing?" she huffed, crossing her arms. "If you don't need me, don't hire me, right?"

Cameron sighed, placing a syringe to the side. "House... is kind of particular when it comes to picking team members."

Fletcher raised an eyebrow. "What, why'd he hire you?"

Well there was no way she was telling her the truth. 'He thought she was pretty'? She shook her head. "I... don't know."

"An enigma, huh? I can get behind that." She walked over, pulling up a seat.

Cameron smiled half-heartedly. "I don't think you want to get behind this one." She sterilized the needle, studying the metal tip shining under the fluorescent lights. It shook, trembling from side to side. No, her hands were shaking. It was just a routine test. Why was she nervous? "Hey, do you want to draw some blood?"

"Hm?"

She held out the syringe. "You'd be less bored, for one thing."

The blonde took it, looking slightly confused. "Sure." She rolled over to the patient, and filled the syringe in one fluid motion. "Here." She held it out, and Cameron accepted it, putting it in a sterile bag.

"Thanks."

"So... how long have you and Doctor Chase been together?"

Well then. Cameron pressed her lips together into a hard line. "I... don't know how to answer that. Sorry."

"Still figuring things out then?"

"Yeah, you could say that." Cameron stood up, walking out of the room. She really didn't want to be having this conversation right now.

"Have you guys had sex?" And that nosy girl was still there.

"Look, I'd appreciate it if you'd stop snooping around my personal life," she snapped, walking faster. She could only remember that one time when she was high on meth, but, to be fair, that was barely a memory of its own right. It had to have happened more than once, though. Otherwise this whole baby situation wouldn't make any sense.

"Well, I was just trying to be social. Sorry if I offended you."

"Right." The other doctor's mere presence seemed to make her head hurt more. She walked into the diagnostics room, noticing Foreman hunched over at the table. "Hey, I've got something for you." He didn't show any sign of comprehension, so she walked closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Foreman?"

His head rolled loosely to the side. "Oh my God," she whispered, before a soft snore cut through her words. She shook the shoulder, and he snapped awake, lifting his head up.

"Huh...? Oh, hi, Cameron. Must've... dozed off there." He rubbed his eyes, almost in an attempt to rub away the evidence of his exhaustion.  
She let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. "I thought you were dead for a moment."

"Nope. Not yet."

She placed the bag on the table gently. "Here. Go run some tests." She looked behind her at the younger doctor. "And take Doctor Fletcher with you." As if on cue, the other two's pagers went off simultaneously, filling the room with tiny beeping. "Or we'll see what House wants..."

* * *

 

He stood beneath a series of lit up diagrams, the blue light they emitted illuminating the otherwise dark room. Even in the darkness she could still make out Chase's form, sitting in the corner with his arms crossed, IV stand beside him.

"What's new?" Foreman asked, shutting the door behind the entering group.

"These," House started, pointing at the diagrams with a finger, "Are some of the results of the autopsy. Anything look funny to you guys?"

"Yes," Cameron said, walking over to Chase. "What are you doing here?"

"Physical therapy started early," he said, gesturing his head toward House.

"Better question. What are  _you_  doing here?" House said, raising his eyebrows at Cameron. "Unless you were hallucinating a little beeping thing on your waist, in that case we might have to refer you to the psych ward."

"I work here," she retorted, sitting down. "Unless Foreman suddenly doesn't remember signing a release form."

"I... what?"

"If you're not useful, you're a liability. Get out. I'll tell you when I need you." House turned away from her, pointing at the diagrams again. "What looks strange here?" he demanded, louder this time.

Foreman shook his head. "It looks fine? I didn't sign any release-"

"There. Right there." Fletcher ran up to one of the diagrams, tapping on it. "A lesion in the lower left lung."

"Exactly, Doctor Fisher."

"Fletcher."

"Yeah, whatever. So, knuckleheads, what does this mean?"

"Could mean a lot of things," Chase said, shrugging.

House gestured for him to go on. "The patient had no history of breathing problems, suggesting..."

"That this was a later development," Foreman said, arms crossed.

House nodded. "Check both our patients. Do a chest MRI, anything you can think of that would tell us the issue."

"We've been running in circles. We're not getting anywhere," Chase said, frustrated. "If you're dragging us out of bed, there better be a good reason."

"You agreed to it."

"I agreed to it because I thought you had something new! We're running all the same tests on different people. We need something definitive!"

"You ripped your stitches."

"What?!" He put a hand to his back in a panic.

"Nah, I'm kidding." Chase dropped his hand down, glowering. "Doctor Chase is not a complete idiot. But, seeing as these are different people, it makes sense to run similar tests again."

"Does that sound like House to you?" Foreman whispered, coming up to Cameron's side.

"No," she replied, confused. "It doesn't make sense for him to not have a theory by now."

"Well? Didn't you kids hear the 'go run some tests' bell? Go!"

"I don't know," he whispered, shrugging. "By the way, meet me in your room in an hour." He got up, walking out the door.

"Chase," Cameron said, stopping him in the hall. He turned, interested. "Why are you out of bed? I thought we were going to be split tasks."

Chase snuck a glance back at the dark room, before leaning in. "He's getting desperate."

She nodded. "Yeah, I can tell. Your pager's hooked on your collar."

He shrugged, looking down at it and grinning. "I'm not wearing pants," he said, raising his eyebrows to give her a look before walking off as if he hadn't said anything.

She crossed her arms, watching him go with a smirk. She could swear that man was a child sometimes.

To be fair, though, she wasn't wearing pants either.

* * *

 

"Hey there. I finally got some news for you," Foreman said, walking in. "After, you know, I found your file."

Cameron looked up from sitting on her bed. "What's up?"

"Well," Foreman said, taking a deep breath, "it looks like the memory loss is going to be permanent. Though I feel like you were expecting that already."

She nodded. That was what she had thought, but she still felt engulfed by the cold tendrils of disappointment.

She was sure he could see it clearly on her face, as he quickly tried to backtrack. "It's not all bad, though. The disorientation should go away, and cognitive function should return for the most part. I wouldn't even be surprised if bits and pieces started to come back here and there."

She nodded again, the cold, gnawing feeling not changing in any noticeable way. "Thanks." It sounded hollow, even to her.

Foreman stood stiffly for a moment, contemplating what to do, before sighing. "This isn't my job, but, you're not just a patient either." He shook his head. "It's going to get better. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but... it will. Trust me, I know. The only thing you can't do is give up."

That was... oddly touching. She smiled gratefully, and he returned it.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm ready to finally get some rest for once," Foreman said. "Good night."

She watched the door close behind him before leaning back with a sigh. Concussions were boring beyond belief. Cameron wanted nothing more than to be able to curl up with a good book, watch a show on TV, anything that would pass the time faster. She closed her eyes, waiting for the world to fade away... Tomorrow would be better, she told herself. Tomorrow would be better.


End file.
